


A Promise Kept (At the Sweetie Pie Bakery)

by Silent_So_Long



Series: otpprompts [22]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Cover Art, Digital Art, M/M, Sexual Content, Tumblr Prompt, Tumblr: otpprompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-17 06:09:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3518330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Richard is a fireman and Paul is the baker who feeds him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Promise Kept (At the Sweetie Pie Bakery)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the following lovely prompt as posted upon tumblr’s otpprompts: [Person A is a baker in a small urban community while person B is a firefighter. A likes to cook B cute little snacks and meals every time B comes to the bakery, and they’ll eat together and chat in the alley. One day, a call comes in to the fire station saying that there is a huge fire at the bakery A is at. B rushes over and saves A. That night, still shooken up after the tragedy, B confesses their feelings to A, saying “I couldn’t bear to lose you” or “I’ll try to keep you safe forever.”](http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/110621247218/person-a-is-a-baker-in-a-small-urban-community)  
> I don‘t know if it‘s worth stating, but I am actually from England and as such, will refer to “fire trucks” as “fire engines” and “firefighters” as “firemen “ throughout the course of this story, as that‘s what we jolly well call ‘em here, I tell thee. Hope that won’t prove to be too bothersome, but .... ja, ich komme aus Großbritannien. ;D  
> This fic is partially inspired by Richard in Rammstein’s “Making of Benzin” video, and his inherent excitement about driving the fire engine!

[ ](http://s1368.photobucket.com/user/paulchen2/media/BeFunky_sweetiepies.jpg_zpsmgf9zkmj.jpg.html)

:::

Paul mopped his brow with the edge of his apron, sweat liberally dappling his skin; the morning already had proved itself a hot one and it barely had turned eight o‘clock. There was a promise of a storm in the air, that odd tingling electrical sensation that thrummed against the skin and always managed to give Paul the beginnings of a headache. He hoped that the headache that threatened would not blossom and bloom and bear fruit; he hated working whilst in the throes of a migraine. 

He tried to take his mind from impending pain by burying his hands into the mound of bread dough upon his work surface, and quietly began to knead; oftentimes he found the movements soothing, and the rhythmic knucklings comforting as the bread began to take form. In time, he was satisfied that the dough was kneaded enough, before he began to prick patterns into the top of it with his knife, so that the dough formed soft peaks, which would harden into a spiky crust in the oven. He nodded once he was finished before he turned his attentions to another mound of dough.

After half an hour, he had a baker's dozen of loaves waiting to be slid carefully into his oven; all around him, he could hear his employees, Oli and Christoph, talking softly amongst themselves. He smiled at both of them on his way past before he loaded the batch of loaves into his oven, with a satisfying scrape of pan against wire rack, before he closed the door and began work on making a selection of cream horns, with various fruit fillings. He made short work of making the confectioner’s cream, before he looked up when the door pinged, announcing the first of the day’s customers. 

Paul’s heart stuttered a little when he saw Richard’s sleepy face hoving into view; the other man’s hair was still damp and a little unruly from his shower, yet his fireman’s uniform was as neat and as tidy as ever. The smile that Richard gave Paul was a happy one, and Paul reciprocated in kind. 

“Oh God, here we go; we won‘t see you again this morning, now that Richard‘s here,” Christoph said, on his way past, hands filled with a tray laden with cherry muffins. “Nice knowing you, Paul.”

Paul took little notice of the other man; instead, he wiped his hands clean upon the closest towel and walked over to the counter where Richard was staring expectantly at him, fireman’s helmet propped before him on the counter-top. That Paul was always the one to serve Richard was never lost upon Paul’s own employees; Paul himself knew that he was bound for the usual jokes once Richard had left, that usually centred around how much of a beautiful couple they made. This was despite the fact that neither one of them had actually asked the other out yet; Paul merely assumed that Richard came in for the cakes, and never for him, sad as that often made him. 

“Hey, Richard, how goes it?” Paul asked, as he wandered over, setting aside his bowl of filling for the moment. 

“It’s going good, Paul. How are you?” Richard asked, as cheerfully as ever. 

“I’m okay, but I‘ve been better,” Paul said, with a slight shrug. “I just wish the storm would break and get all the posturing over with.” 

“Ah, another headache,” Richard said, with a slight frown at the smaller man. 

“Hmm,” Paul nodded, with a brave attempt at a smile. “Anyway, never mind; if it comes, it comes and I can‘t do a damn thing about it.”

“I bet that’s not the only thing that’ll come where Richard’s concerned,” Christoph whispered loudly behind Paul’s back. 

Both Richard and Paul affected indifference to Christoph’s lewd joke, yet Paul could see that Richard coloured slightly. To ease his friend’s embarrassment, he continued talking. 

”Anyway, Richard, I suppose you want feeding again, you greedy little wench,” he said. 

Richard's frown was replaced by a sudden grin. 

“Well, I wouldn’t mind, I suppose. Considering you‘re offering, y‘know?” Richard said, with an attempt at a nonchalant shrug. 

Paul wasn’t fooled; he knew that Richard enjoyed the food on offer at the bakery and had been a near constant visitor at the establishment since it had first opened its doors four months previously. Richard had been one of the first visitors to visit even then, hungry fireman’s stomach greedy for cakes, pies and pastries; he’d laughingly confessed at the time that the sign outside had attracted his attentions as much as the delicious smells inside had. That had made Paul laugh; the sign for Sweetie Pies included the byline - “We Sell F*cking Cakes.” Paul had, as yet, to admit that the idea for the sign had been his. 

Since the open doors had first admitted Richard into Paul’s bakery, the two men had struck up a close friendship;. Paul was always glad to give something back to the community by feeding one of the firemen that helped to keep Berlin safe. Richard, in turn, always appreciated the food that Paul recommended to him and seemed almost to refuse to take food from anyone but Paul. 

“So, what tickles your fancy this morning, then, Richard?” Paul asked. 

“Well, what I really want is not intended for polite company, so I’ll settle for some fresh doughnuts, instead,” Richard said with a grin, as his eyes roved eagerly over the racks of cakes. “Do you have any? The ones with the strawberry jam inside?” 

“I thought you knew, by now; I’m not polite company. And I do have some, freshly made not five minutes ago,” Paul said, with a laugh. 

“Super. I’ll take half a dozen of them, please and one for myself,” Richard said. “I suppose the rest of my shift will want something to eat, too.”

This last was said with a sigh that didn’t have Paul fooled; he knew that Richard didn’t mind taking breakfast to the firemen he shared a shift with. He grinned, nodded agreeably, and his movements were confident as he slipped the requested amount of doughnuts into a crinkling paper bag. The scents of fresh dough and sugar assailed his senses and Paul found that his headache lessened a little at the familiar and homely aroma. 

He also slipped the scrambled egg filled sub roll that he’d specially made for Richard’s breakfast into another bag, despite the fact that Richard himself had not asked for it. Richard never did, yet that did not stop Paul from slipping the other man a little something extra, all the same. Paul himself could not remember when exactly he’d found out that Richard often skipped breakfast, too tired to bother and too much in a rush to get to work. He'd since taken it upon himself to feed him; cooking for others was, after all, one of his greatest passions in life, and he expected nothing in return for it, even when Richard offered to pay for it. The knowledge that Richard was getting fed and therefore not making himself ill was payment enough for him. 

“Bring your food out to the alley whilst I take a break,” Paul said, as he nodded at the doorway nearby. “It’s time I took one, anyway.”

Richard nodded, and waited for Paul to open the small employee’s gate in the counter; Paul waited until the fireman had made his way through before he shut and locked it again; neither Christoph nor Oli paid much attention to Richard’s seeming intrusion into their working space. Paul had been inviting Richard through for almost as long as they’d been friends, and they’d shared time together alone in the alleyway behind the bakery, sharing cigarettes and anecdotes as well as food. 

Paul wrapped up a small baguette for himself, before he led Richard through a door and into the alley beyond. Already the air was cooling a little, in a prelude to the oncoming storm. A slight breeze began to pick up, rattling random pieces of rubbish over the concrete, to shore up against the far wall. 

“Weather’s getting worse,” Richard observed, as he accepted the food from Paul’s hand gratefully.

“Hmm,” Paul agreed, quietly, as he unwrapped his baguette. “It’ll rain soon.”

Richard hummed out his own agreement, mouth too filled with egg and with bread to form a better response. Paul smiled at the look of extreme bliss upon Richard’s face as the fireman ate; he knew that Richard, once again, was enjoying his breakfast. He slowly started to eat his own food, cold chicken and tomato mingling with warm bread to fill his suddenly hungry stomach. Neither man spoke at first, and whenever Paul glanced in Richard’s direction, the other man was staring off into space, seemingly too preoccupied to notice Paul’s occasional scrutiny. 

Paul couldn’t help but think of how handsome the other man was, of how good he looked in his fireman’s uniform. He’d always had a weakness for men in uniform and Richard was certainly his type. Despite their easy familiarity and their constant sharing of jokes, he still was not certain how Richard felt about him, or whether Richard was even gay.

Paul sighed and shifted against the wall he leant upon, boot scraping against the concrete at their feet; the noise and the sudden, slight movement made Richard startle a little, and jerked the fireman out of his reverie. Richard glanced at Paul, still with that trapped and thoughtful look on his face that Paul had previously noticed. Paul tilted his head at Richard, silently asking him what was wrong; he didn't need words to convey his curiosity. Richard always seemed to know what he meant, in much the same way as Paul knew what Richard had to say even through the slightest of gestures from the other man. Richard offered him a slight smile, that was just as much embarrassed as it was awkward and uncertain. He cleared his throat, in prelude to speaking and Paul waited patiently. 

“You don't have to keep feeding me, you know,” Richard said, with a smile. 

“No, I don’t have to,” Paul said, slowly and not for the first time. “But I want to.”

“Why?” Richard asked. “And don’t say it’s your goddamned job.” 

Paul merely smiled; he had given Richard that answer on more occasions than he could count. The oft repeated answer had started to vaguely irritate him, because he felt as though he couldn‘t admit to the truth of his own feelings towards Richard. 

“Can’t I be doing it to be friendly?” Paul asked, uncertain as to what else to say to the other man without revealing too much. 

“Okay,” Richard said, with a vague nod. “Friendly’s good.”

“But - ?” Paul asked, slowly, sensing that there was more to come.

Richard offered him that half embarrassed smile again, before he shrugged. 

“I guess I’m just wondering who else gets free breakfasts from you,” he said. 

Paul’s laughter was sudden and sharp, seeming to reach up to the sliver of sky that hung above them, sliced in two by the angle of the alleyway they were taking shelter in. 

“Why? Jealous?” he asked, as he gave Richard a sly smile. 

“What? Over an egg sandwich?” Richard snorted, but the sheer fact that he hadn’t given a straight answer indicated to Paul that perhaps the other man was a little jealous, after all and just didn’t want to admit it. 

“Huh, it does sound vaguely ridiculous, now that you mention it,” he conceded, with a slight nod in Richard’s direction. “But, in all honesty, you are the only one who gets fed for free every morning.”

“Really?” Richard asked, as he gave Paul a side-long look.

It almost seemed to Paul as though Richard was trying to determine whether he was telling the truth or not, and half-hoping that he was. 

“You can always ask Oli, or Christoph,” Paul said, as he jerked his thumb in the direction of the bakery behind them. “They can vouch for me on that score.” 

Paul didn’t bother adding that he’d been teased often enough over his special preference shown to Richard; that topic of conversation would have opened up a line of questioning that would have made Paul feel quite uncomfortable. Richard, however, snorted, as though the mere suggestion of asking someone else’s opinion was not worth the bother. Paul wasn’t sure whether he’d really expected Richard to even ask after all; he’d seemed embarrassed enough just asking him and Richard should have known that Paul was not apt to laugh at him or poke fun, as Oli or Christoph would have done. 

Paul smiled as Richard fished his doughnut from the bottom of his bag and took a hasty bite; jam squirted from the middle of it to smear against his lips and the fireman smiled as he licked the jam away with great enjoyment. 

“This is really good,” he mumbled from around his mouthful. “The sandwich was, too.” 

Paul nodded and smiled at the other man, pleased that Richard had enjoyed his food so much. They continued to eat in silence for a while, before Paul began to ask Richard about the day ahead. Conversation fell into place after that and embarrassment was stripped away, until they were at their usual ease with each other. They stood outside for a while after their breakfast had been consumed; Richard tapped out two cigarettes from a freshly opened carton and gave one to Paul. 

“Seems ironic for a fireman to smoke, huh?” Richard asked, with a smile as he lit Paul’s cigarette.

Paul smiled as he puffed, but didn’t remark upon it. Richard didn’t speak further; instead, both men stood and enjoyed their smokes in silence, until the rain began, small droplets at first, which soon picked up in earnest, putting an end to their early morning comfort. 

“I guess that puts an end to my visit, then,“ Richard commented, with some disappointment. “I’ll be seeing you tonight, then.” 

“Yup,” Paul said, with a nod as he led Richard back into the bakery once more. “Any special requests, food-wise?”

“Nah, just whatever you feel like giving me,” Richard said, with a shrug. 

Paul merely smiled and watched the other man leave, before Christoph nudged him, gaining his attention once more. 

“I know what you can give him, Paulchen.” Christoph said. 

“And what exactly would that be, Chris?” Paul asked, drolly, fully expecting a lewd comment.

In that, Christoph didn’t disappoint; he mimed a blow job, just as the door pinged open to admit a lady old enough to be the mythical Methusalah’s wife in from the rain. Paul had not seen Christoph turn red as fast as he did that morning and he hadn’t stopped laughing about it even when Methusalah’s wife had shuffled back out into the rain once more. 

:::

That evening, the storm had long since broken by the time that Richard finished his shift. He swung into the Sweetie Pies Bakery, just as Paul was wiping down the counter in preparation for closing up. Richard looked as tired as Paul felt right then, yet the other man was twice as dirty as Paul ever would get in his own job. Even though Paul knew that Richard took a shower before leaving work, he still, inevitably, missed some dirt and some grime that stubbornly stuck to his skin. 

“Hallo,” Paul said, even before Richard had even reached the counter. “Busy day?” 

“Hi and yeah, it was,” Richard said, with a nod. “There was a fire at the glass factory. Wasn’t too serious but bad enough. At least we didn‘t lose anyone today.”

Paul nodded, sympathetically, but remained otherwise silent. Paul knew how much the job affected Richard whenever someone died within the flames; as such, he’d often been there for Richard whenever that happened, to offer his mostly silent companionship whilst the other man spoke of loss and of associated frustration. 

“Excuse me a moment,” Paul said, as he ran water over a clean cloth and reached up to swipe at a sooty mark left upon Richard’s cheek.

Richard held still, as a smile started to curl the corners of his lips; Paul was grateful that the other man did not move away. Instead, he seemed almost to step into the contact a little, patiently waiting for Paul to finish dabbing at the soot long after it was gone.

“There,” Paul said, with a smile. “That was kind of bothering me.” 

Richard’s chuckle seemed too intimate for the space somehow, a warm and touchable thing that slid between them and made Paul shiver slightly beneath the imagined weight of it. 

“I have something for you,” he said, in order to forestall the embarrassed flush from staining his cheeks. 

“Oh?” Richard asked with sudden interest. “More food? You know you’re gonna make me too fat to fit into my uniform one day, Paul.” 

“While that’s not necessarily a bad thing, you do still insist on coming back,” Paul said, as he offered the other man a smile. 

Richard laughed at that and did not seem offended at all by the implications that could have been deferred by the statement. 

“I bet you say that to all the boys;’ he said, playfully.

“No, just to you,” Paul said, a smirk warming his features suddenly.

Richard seemed a little flustered by that, saved only by Paul’s production of a box from beneath the counter. It bore the logo of the bakery upon the top and Paul had scribbled the other man’s name across the top corner. 

“It’s a new recipe,” Paul explained as he pushed the box towards Richard. “Tell me what you think and I might consider putting on the shelves.” 

“Oh? No one else has tried it?” Richard asked with great interest.

Although he should have been used to acting as Paul’s favourite guinea pig by now, Richard still seemed caught off guard by it every time. That he trusted Paul not to accidentally give him food poisoning or give him anything that wasn’t unduly delicious was apparent, and Paul was grateful for Richard’s continued trust in him. 

“Only me, but I want a second opinion,” Paul said, and he deigned to mention the fact that Christoph and Oli both had attempted to try the food for themselves. 

Richard made an appreciative noise at that before he opened the box with alacrity; inside was nestled a cupcake, silver beads decorating the light pink frosting, wrapped in a bright red paper case. The scent of raspberry and vanilla wafted up to Paul and he watched as the other man inhaled deeply, obviously enjoying the sweet scent; Paul knew that raspberry was a particular favourite of his friend. 

“Smells good,’ Richard said, and returned Paul‘s grateful smile. 

He unwrapped the cake and lifted it to his lips, before he bit into it. He made a loud, appreciative noise as the soft sugary taste flooded his tongue; Richard’s eyes closed momentarily and the noise he made next was orgasmic, and almost involuntary.

“It tastes good,” he said, when his eyes opened again.

“Wait til you get to the middle,” Paul said, grin brightening his face and sending deep wrinkles into his skin across his nose and around his eyes.

Richard did as he was pompted and made a surprised noise when he reached the middle of the cake; inside was a soft and chewy centre.

“It’s chewy,” he said, his surprise warming his voice.

“It’s actually a Gummi Bear,” Paul admitted, with a smile. “I thought it’d make a change from the usual jam.” 

“Oh?” Richard said, in surprise. “Well, it’s good. You should definitely sell these. Dare I say it, but these will sell like hot cakes.” 

“That was a bad joke, Reesh, but thank you,” Paul said, with obvious approval. 

Richard’s laughter proved infectious, and he still was smiling when he finished the remainder of his cake. Then he wiped his fingers on the napkin that Paul passed him before he made an observation.

“Y’know, that’s the first time you’ve ever called me Reesh,” he said. “Only my co-workers do that.”

“I’m sorry,” Paul said, feeling embarrassed for the oversight. “I shouldn’t have presumed - “

“That’s okay,” Richard said, hand rising to forestall further comment from Paul. “I like it. We’re friends. Call me what you want except arse-hole.” 

Paul laughed at that and nodded.

“Good. I'm glad,” he said. 

“Oh by the way, talking of work reminds me - we’re making a calendar for charity, y'know, for the Christmas season. We’re having a photo shoot for it next week. We’re supposed to be getting pre-orders for it. I dunno if you’d be interested in buying one? Like I said, it is for charity,” Richard said, obviously embarrassed. 

“A calendar? Filled with firemen? Sure,” Paul said, with a grin. “You’re not naked or anything, are you?”

“Uh, well, there are skillfully placed fire helmets and hoses,” Richard offered, and Paul couldn’t help but think he looked cute in his obvious embarrassment. “All safe for work, though.” 

“Safe for work,” Paul repeated, with a grin. “That’s a damn shame.” 

Richard laughed, before he said - “You actually sound disappointed.” 

“Well, you know I can’t resist a man in uniform, or out of one,” Paul said, with a shrug, even as he averted his gaze. 

That was the closest he’d ever came to admitting his feelings for Richard; when he glanced up at the other man, he was glad to note that Richard merely looked amused by his statement, instead of disgusted. Paul thought for a moment that the other man even looked a little hopeful, but the expression was gone in an instant. 

“Oh? Good,” Richard said, with an appreciative nod. “You’re in luck, then. You’ll have twelve to ogle. I’ll put you down for one, then?” 

“Two, if you wouldn't mind,” Paul said. “One for the bakery, and the other ... well, the other’s for me, actually.” 

“Okay. Cool,” Richard said, and a grin spread across his face at the news. “Two it is then.”

“What month are you?” Paul asked. 

“Dunno, yet, but I think I might be December,” Richard said. “They did mention something to me about a Santa hat at any rate.” 

“Oh? Well, my birthday also is in December. On the 9th, actually. Lucky me,” Paul said, with a grin. 

“Oh? Well, I’ll have to remember that, then,” Richard said, in surprise.

Paul nodded, before he shuffled his feet slightly. 

“Anyway, I’d best close the bakery for the evening,” he mumbled, still a little embarrassed. “Sorry, I don't want to seem like I'm throwing you out or anything.”

“Nah, you're okay. I’d best be getting along myself. I need a proper shower, anyway,” Richard said, with a smile.

Paul nodded, yet still they talked for a while longer, until Richard made his final goodbyes for the day. 

:::

The air was still chill as Richard made his way down Kudamm, towards the train station that would take him home, yet he felt a warmth in his chest that he hadn’t felt before. In finding out that Paul’s birthday was in December meant a lot to him; it was something that seemed infinitely personal, that Paul had willingly given up. Richard wondered then if perhaps the jokes and the easy familiarity that they shared actually meant something to the other man after all, and whether he might yet have a chance if he actually dared to ask Paul out. 

Richard knew that his feeling towards Paul were more than mere friendship; he’d been charmed by the other man’s personality and way with a joke from the time they’d first met. He often thought of Paul whilst he was alone, at the easy way in which he smiled, and how handsome he looked whilst in repose; Richard resolved once again that h e should just pluck up the courage and ask the man out. 

::::

Two weeks later, Paul looked up to see Richard peering through the window, an amused, yet somewhat embarrassed smile upon his face. Paul grinned back, a little confused, before he gestured for the other man to come in. Richard shuffled in, yet he looked no less embarrassed when he came closer. 

“What’s wrong?” Paul asked, worried that something had happened, or worse, he had a pimple the size of Venus on the side of his neck. 

“We had the photo shoot today,” Richard said. “The one for the calendar. Remember?” 

“Yeah,” Paul said, even though he could hardly forget something like that.

Thoughts of an almost naked Richard had haunted his nights since the other man had first mentioned it, and had certainly proved to be good fuel for a lot of his masturbatory fantasies since. 

“Good, was it?” Paul asked, innocently. 

“ I suppose. They weren’t joking when they said I’d be wearing nothing but a helmet and a Santa's hat,” Richard said. 

“Wait, how did you manage to wear two hats?” Paul asked, in surprise. 

“The fireman’s helmet was on my head and the Santa hat was ... decidedly not,” Richard said, and an embarrassed laugh suddenly broke free from his chest. 

“Ah,” Paul said, aiming for a his best poker face to try and mask the sudden surge of lust that poured through him at the very thought of it. “So did you get a good view of the other firemen?” 

“I wouldn’t have been allowed even if I’d been interested,” Richard said with a derisive snort.

“Oh,” Paul said, and he felt a sudden stab of horror at that, that perhaps he’d read the situation wrong. 

Paul had the sudden fear Richard wasn’t gay after all. 

“None of them are my type,” Richard explained, and he looked a little worried then, almost as though fearful of giving offense. 

“Oh?” Paul said, uncertain as to which way he should take that little snippet of information. 

“They’re too ... manly if you know what I mean. I like my men ... gentler and funnier,” Richard said. “Better with their hands. Being a good cook is always attractive.” 

“Ah,” Paul said, and the smile had returned to his face again. “I see.” 

His fears over Richard’s sexuality had been proven groundless, for which Paul was exceedingly grateful. He couldn’t shake the notion that Richard was perhaps trying to hit on him; the other man’s type sounded suspiciously like Paul himself. 

“So do you have a type?” Richard asked, innocently.

“What?” Paul asked, in surprise, thoughts too far away to have caught more than half of the other man’s question.

“A type. Do you have one? Men? Women? Both? None?” Richard asked, and even though there was a slight smile on his face, his eyes were serious.

“I like my men in uniform,” Paul said, with a slight smile of his own. “Preferably tall, dark and handsome and not too skinny.” 

“Ah,” Richard said, and he looked pleased.

Paul smiled at that, suddenly feeling nervous; it must have been obvious to Richard that Paul, in turn, had effectively described Richard as being his type. Paul coughed a little, suddenly resolved to just ask the other man out, now that he was a little more hopeful of gaining a positive answer. 

“Paul? Can I ask you something very personal?” Richard asked, breaking into Paul‘s thoughts suddenly. 

“Within reason, I suppose, yeah,” Paul said, and attempted to cover his nervousness with a grin. 

Richard opened his mouth to speak, yet his question was destined to remain unspoken; a gaggle of noisy students chose that moment to pour in through the doors of the bakery, loudly demanding pies and cakes at the tops of their voices. By the time that they’d poured out again, the moment had passed, and Richard did not ask his question; Paul felt too awkward to even mention it. 

::::

The following day, Richard still felt angry that he’d been so easily diverted from actually finally asking Paul out. He found it hard to focus for the majority of his shift, a fact that was not lost on those he worked with. Till and Flake in particular seemed keen to tease him about his distracted state, yet their jibes helped to strengthen his resolve. He was determined to not give up quite so easily that afternoon. 

Later that day a call came into the fire station that made Richard‘s heart clench with fear in his chest; the Sweetie Pies bakery was on fire. The ride through the streets of Berlin seemed to take far longer than they should have and Richard was a shaking mass of sick nerves by the time that the fire engine parked outside. By that time, smoke was already pouring out of the building in thick black clouds which arched up to the sky; it blotted out the sun in random bursts, turning the pavements dark for brief periods of time. Flames licked hungrily at the bottom floor and Richard’s heart turned to ice in his chest at the sight.

All he could think of was Paul and he hoped against everything that he had that the man had managed to escape; despite his hopes, he couldn’t see anyone on the pavements outside that wore the bakery’s uniform. His limbs felt heavy as he jumped from the cab of the fire engine and joined his fellow firemen on the pavement. 

As Richard was the one most familiar with the building's layout, he was put in charge of reconnaissance; he set to with alacrity, first checking the outside of the building for hot zones, and to study the movement of the smoke at various entry points. It seemed as though the fire had started in the main portion of the building, where the ovens were, and not at the back, where the employees had their staff room and lockers. Once he’d ascertained a safe entry point, he gestured for Till to follow him inside; they skillfully entered the building through the door in the alleyway, so familiar from his time spent there with Paul. 

It didn’t take the two firemen long to find Oli and Christoph; they helped them from the building and made sure that they were safe with the paramedics. Richard was about to return to the building, when Till pulled him back, to point at the jets of water already arcing their way towards the burning building. 

“There’s no one else in there,” Till yelled over the noise and the confusion. 

“There is,” Richard insisted, as he pulled forcefully away from the other man’s tight hold. “There should be one more.” 

He didn’t give Till a chance to react; instead, he pulled away and plunged inside the building. He was vaguely aware of Till shouting after him to get his arse back outside but Richard didn’t listen. All he could think of was Paul laying unconscious on the floor, or worse, Paul laying dead somewhere and it would all be Richard’s fault if he didn‘t get to him in time. 

The bakery was thick with smoke, making visibility poor and Richard could feel the heat of the flames as they licked hungrily at the oxygen. He plunged blindly through the rooms, shouting for Paul, praying with every fibre of his being that the other man would answer him. Paul never did. 

He eventually found Paul slumped on the floor in the toilets, barely conscious, but thankfully, still breathing. Richard gathered him up in his arms, and almost cried when he saw Paul’s eyes open to stare dazedly up at him.

“Paul? Can you walk?” he shouted, urgently.

“Reesh?” Paul asked, and Richard was gratified to note that he was conscious enough to recognise him. 

“Yeah. Can you walk, Paul?” Richard asked again, one gloved hand reaching up to cup Paul’s cheek. 

Paul nodded, but didn’t seem able to speak further. Richard helped the other man to his feet and supported him as they walked out into the open air; Richard felt the air outside like a cold slap against his body after the warmth of inside, even through the protection of his uniform and his helmet. 

Richard was glad for the fact that at least Paul could walk, even though he needed assistance; his body felt too small, too light against Richard and he didn’t even realize that he was yelling for help, yelling for someone to save him until a paramedic tried prying Paul from Richard’s death grip.

“You need to let go of him, sir, we’ve got him now,” the paramedic said, kindly but firmly. 

Richard nodded, and watched until he was certain that the paramedic was giving Paul the aid he needed. He found it hard to turn away, however, but turn away he did; he returned to the side of his fellow firemen to fight the flames that were already starting to gain control of the building. 

Richard lost track of the time, and it seemed to him as though hours had passed until the fire had finally died down to nothing more than a few burning embers. Richard then excused himself from his fellow firemen to check up on Paul, who was sitting in the back of a nearby ambulance; a crinkling silver sheet was wrapped firmly around his body, and his slim hands held a cardboard cup of tea which he seemed to sip automatically. Paul’s eyes had taken on a thousand yard stare, yet he managed to focus when he saw Richard was nearby. He even managed a smile, which Richard was glad to see, despite the fact that it was not Paul’s usual grin. 

“Are you alright?” Richard asked, as he perched in the back of the ambulance himself, all too aware of the state he must be in, smelling strongly of smoke and covered liberally with dirt and with sweat. 

“I will be, I think,” Paul replied, but he looked weary and too tired, too old beyond his years. “Thank you for saving me.”

Richard nodded, glad for the fact that Paul at least remembered that much. Then it came crashing down upon him, just how close it had been; a few minutes more and he would quite likely have lost Paul entirely.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, as he leant back against the side of the ambulance, staring with pain up at the ceiling.

“Reesh?” Paul suddenly asked, and Richard was aware of the other man’s presence beside him.

Paul’s hand was a comforting weight upon Richard’s shoulder.

“Do you need a doctor?” Paul continued. 

“No,” Richard said roughly. “They fucking can’t do anything for me.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Paul asked, and he suddenly sounded scared to Richard’s ears.

“I thought I’d fucking lost you, Paul,” Richard said, roughly and he squeezed his eyes shut, determined not to cry.

It was the fear, the crash of adrenaline that made him want to cry, coupled with the very real fear that had frozen his blood in his veins and turned it to ice water. 

“Oh, Reesh,” Paul said, but it seemed as though he didn’t know what to say, or even to think.

“I thought I’d lost you, dammit,” Richard repeated as though Paul hadn’t herd. “I couldn’t lose you, not now. Not like the others.”

“You didn’t,” Paul said and his hand descended upon Richard’s cheek then, in an intimate and warm, yet ultimately welcome, touch.

It seemed as though it dragged Richard back into the present, convinced him that Paul was real and was really there. He pulled Paul into a rough hug, almost knocked the cup from the other man’s fingers but he didn’t let go; Paul didn’t protest the contact, merely stroked Richard’s hair as Richard buried his face into the curve of Paul’s neck. 

“I love you, dammit,” Richard ground out against the curve of Paul's throat.

He felt Paul go still against him, but he didn’t care. His feelings for Paul were out in the open now and he felt stripped bare, every nerve raw and vulnerable; he knew that if Paul rejected him after all, he couldn't hurt any more than he did right then. 

“What?” Paul asked and his voice sounded too small in Richard‘s ears.

“I love you,” Richard said, again and it felt like further release for him. “I’ve loved you for a long time now but I couldn't tell you. I can‘t lose you. I don‘t want to; I want to keep you safe forever, Paul.”

“Why couldn’t you tell me?” Paul asked, but he didn‘t let go of his hold upon Richard.

Instead, his hug tightened and one hand rose to smooth its way through Richard’s hair; the motions were soothing, comforting and Richard did let out a sob then, that was muffled against Paul’s throat. 

“Because I thought you’d fucking reject me,” Richard said, finally. 

“Why would you even think I’d do something like that, Reesh?” Paul said, and he sounded genuinely angry for a moment. “What the hell do you think I’ve been trying to tell you all these weeks? I’m in love with you, too, you idiot.” 

Richard didn’t know what to say to that; instead he just held Paul and was held in return, Paul‘s hand describing soft caresses against his hair. Richard eased away, yet his hands remained upon Paul's sides and he stared at Paul. 

Neither man spoke, however, but Paul offered him a smile that spoke louder than words ever could. In that smile, was held the truth of Paul’s previous confession; Richard huffed out a humourless laugh and reached up to press sooty fingers against Paul’s cheek. Paul closed his eyes and pressed his lips against Richard’s palm; his mouth lingered and sent fire through Richard’s body. He did not relinquish his hold upon Paul, even when the kiss ended. He was about to say something, anything to Paul, yet his attentions were diverted by the return of the paramedic that had first treated Paul; she checked him over once again, before she took the sheet from around his shoulders, proclaiming that he was as fit as the proverbial fiddle. 

“It might be better if you stayed with someone tonight,” she advised. “Just in case.” 

Paul nodded and wandered away, Richard his soot-covered shadow. Richard remained by his side in the street as Paul looked up at the burnt out shell of his bakery.

“Have you got anywhere to stay tonight?“ Richard said.

“I can always stay at Oli’s or Christoph’s, I suppose,” Paul said, but it sounded as though he wasn't enthused about the idea. “Just for a few days. I literally don’t have anywhere else to go, anyway. My apartment went up with the bakery.” 

“You can always stay at my place,” Richard said. “Until you get yourself on your feet again.”

His tone implied, however, that he didn’t, in fact, care how long Paul stayed with him; Richard would have been happy if Paul chose to stay with him for good. 

“I couldn’t do that,” Paul said, but it looked as though he was tempted by the offer. 

“Seriously, I don’t mind. You wouldn‘t get in the way,’ Richard told him. “Besides, you can always watch me changing into my uniform.” 

That last was a vain attempt at levity, aimed to bring a smile to Paul's face; his comment seemed to work, for the other man suddenly laughed and nodded. 

“Okay, that sounds good,” Paul replied, and it sounded almost as though they were having a normal conversation again. “Thank you.”

Richard knew that the gesture of thanks was more for the offer of a place to stay than for the offer of watching him get dressed, but it was good to see Paul smile properly, again. That smile didn’t last long, however; Paul’s sadness returned when he returned his gaze to all that remained of his bakery.

::::

“Are you sure you don’t mind me living here?” Paul asked. “I can always pay you for a while. I have enough money saved up in the bank.” 

“It’s okay, Paul,” Richard said, not for the first time as he led the other man into his apartment. “I don’t want you to pay, nor do I really expect it. If you really want to do something, though, you can always cook a few meals here and there. Just on occasion.” 

“Oh? Well, that’s something I can do,” Paul said, and Richard detected the faintest hint of relief in his tone.

Richard suspected that Paul would insist on doing most of the cooking, even though Richard himself didn’t really expect it. Rather than offend the other man, however, he did not argue; he suspected that Paul needed to cook, as much as he needed to pay off an imaginary debt to Richard. He sighed, and decided to change the subject a little. 

“I hate to tell you, but I only have one bed. You can take that for tonight,” Richard said. “I’ll sleep on the couch. Just until I get the spare room sorted.” 

Paul looked guilty at that, but Richard sighed and shook his head to forestall further argument.

“Please don’t, Paul,” he said, gently. “I made the offer and I’ll happily abide by it. It’s just for one night.” 

“Okay, thank you,” Paul said, before he paused. “ Reesh, I have no clothes.” 

Richard bit back the sudden laugh that threatened to bubble from his chest; Paul looked genuinely distraught by the notion of being clothes-less. 

“Don’t worry; you can borrow some of mine. They’ll be too big on you, but they’re clean,” Richard said, as he gestured for Paul to follow him through to the bedroom. 

“I should have said before, Reesh, but you have a really nice place here, you know,” Paul observed, as he looked around at his new surroundings with appreciation. 

“Thank you,” Richard said, simply. “I like it.” 

Paul nodded, but said nothing more; instead, he watched as Richard opened the wardrobe and pulled a spare pair of pyjamas from the depths of it. Richard handed the nightwear to Paul, before he stepped back and gestured towards the wardrobe, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden, as though he was intruding on Paul’s private time. 

“Okay, just choose whatever you want,” he said.

Paul nodded and pulled out a pair of black trousers and a soft burgundy shirt, which he laid, almost reverently, upon the bed.

“I’m gonna have a shower and then I’ll order a pizza or something while you get yourself cleaned up,” Richard said, as he stepped forward to pull clothes from the wardrobe seemingly at random. 

“Sounds good,” Paul said, with a nod. 

“You can turn the TV on while you’re waiting, or read a book. Just make yourself at home,” Richard grinned as he made his way to the bathroom.

Paul nodded at that, before Richard finally left him alone. 

::::

The following morning, Paul awoke to find Richard already awake, and setting up a camp bed in the spare room. He watched Richard for a while, enjoying the way the muscles moved beneath Richard’s t shirt whilst he worked. Richard threw a sudden grin over his shoulder after a few moments of silence had passed, before he spoke.

“I know you’re watching me, Paul,” he said, but it didn‘t sound as though he particularly minded.

Paul laughed at that before he moved into the room to give Richard a hand. Whilst the room itself was smaller than Richard's own room, it still was of a decent enough size to accommodate Paul nicely for a while and Paul himself was grateful for the fact that Richard was more than willing to share his apartment. 

His hand brushed up against Richard’s own as they worked and he was gratified that Richard did not pull away; instead, the other man paused, looked up and smiled, before the other man dared to reach out, fingers suddenly twining with Paul’s.

“I’m sorry about all of this,” Richard said, as though he personally was the one who'd caused the fire.

Paul hesitated at the first brush of the other mans’ fingers against his skin, before he squeezed the other man’s hand gratefully; he did not drop Richard’s hand and Richard himself did not seem in a hurry to relinquish contact either. Instead, Richard stepped in and folded both arms around Paul; Paul settled in against Richard’s body, taking warmth as well as comfort from the other man’s embrace. It felt good, right somehow and he slid his arms around Richard’s body to bunch needy fingers in the back of his shirt. 

“This is not your fault, Reesh,” he said roughly. “It never was.”

“I know,” Richard said, gently. “But I couldn’t save your bakery.”

“You tried your best, dammit,” Paul said, and he still didn’t pull away. “You and your team; you tried. It wasn’t your fault that you couldn’t save it. I’m alive. My employees are alive and that’s more important than some damn stupid building.”

Richard made a noise of agreement, but he didn’t speak; instead, Paul allowed the other man to continue cuddling him, eyes closing at the way Richard’s hand caressed warm circles into his back. Paul smiled, mind drifting to everything that Richard had confessed in the aftermath of the fire, whilst they’d both sat alone in the back of an ambulance. 

“Reesh?” he murmured, against Richard's chest.

“Hmm?” Richard asked, that one noise contented and languid against Paul’s body. 

“Did you really mean all that you told me, last night?” he asked, quietly.

He didn’t explain what he was referring to and Richard didn’t need the explanation. 

“Yeah,” Richard said, quietly. “I don’t fuck around about things like that, Paul. When I said I loved you, I fucking meant it.”

“Good,” Paul said, quietly. “I don‘t fuck around with things like that, either, just so you know.”

“Good,” Richard said, before he fell silent.

Paul didn’t speak, either, but their silence spoke of shared understanding and companionship. Paul didn’t feel in the slightest bit uncomfortable and he smiled when Richard eased away to stare down at him at close range. Paul smiled when he realized that the other man was staring at Paul’s mouth, as though Richard was contemplating kissing him. Richard suddenly looked away guiltily, as though he thought that even a kiss was too soon. Paul sighed, and curled his fingers about Richard’s chin, and turned the other man’s face to his. He dotted a kiss against Richard's mouth, kept kissing until Richard began to respond, lips working hungrily against lips and every kiss seemed like a desperate drag of air. He felt the first stirrings of arousal pool in his abdomen and Richard groaned into the contact; Paul could hear Richard’s own arousal rumbling in his chest yet still Richard stopped with a noticeable effort.

“It’s too soon, Paulchen,” Richard said, as he rested his forehead against Paul’s. “In time, I want to do this, but not now.”

Paul didn’t need any explanation as to what Richard meant; he felt gratified that the other man was not pressurizing him into doing anything too soon.

“Okay. Best to save it for another time,” he said, before he pressed another kiss against Richard’s mouth again. 

::::

The weeks passed and Paul remained in Richard’s apartment. He found that he settled into shared life better than he would have hoped; the apartment did not feel too cramped and they seemed to dance around one another like they’d been doing it for ages. As he’d promised, Paul insisted on doing most of the cooking; Richard helped whenever Paul would allow him and certainly appreciated every one of Paul’s creations; Paul smiled every time, glad that he was doing something as recompense for Richard‘s continued kindness. 

The insurance money came through after the fire and Paul began to look for a new commercial property to lease; he even extended an offer of re-employment to his old colleagues Oli and Christoph should they still want it; they both accepted his offer gratefully. The investigation into the cause of the fire also yielded results; faulty wiring in one of the ovens had been the root cause of the blaze.

His relationship with Richard grew stronger and ever more serious, as the weeks began to slowly pass. The beginning of December arrived, which marked Paul’s sixth week of living in Richard’s apartment. Paul had once even tentatively offered to find his own apartment, yet Richard had steadfastly refused, stating that he wanted Paul to continue living with him permanently. Paul had readily accepted the offer, with an amused smile. 

One evening, Richard walked into Paul’s room, where Paul was sitting perched upon the edge of his bed, taking his socks off in preparation for getting into bed. Paul looked up with a smile, and noted the serious look in Richard’s eyes. 

“Hallo,” he said, feeling faintly ridiculous for his salutation, but uncertain as to what else to say. 

“D’you wanna come in to my room tonight?” Richard asked, as he scrubbed the back of his neck awkwardly with some embarrassment. “Instead of staying in here. On your own. It’s about time, don’t you think?” 

“Oh,” Paul said, in surprise. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Richard replied. “We don’t have to do anything yet that you don’t want to; just come into bed with me.” 

“Okay,” Paul said, with a nod and a nervous smile at the other man. 

It felt strange to Paul to slip beneath the covers with Richard, yet it was a good kind of strange and he found that he rather liked it. Paul sighed and rolled a little closer to Richard; he felt comfortable enough to snuggle up against the other man. Richard’s sudden surprised huff of laughter rumbled through Paul, yet still Richard’s hug was immediate and gentle; Richard pressed a kiss against Paul's mouth gently. Paul returned the kiss, yet neither man wished to do more that night than to kiss and cuddle beneath shared covers. 

:::

Paul’s move to Richard’s bed proved a permanent one, something which Richard himself was keen to encourage and Paul equally keen to continue accepting. A week passed and they slipped beneath the covers again; Richard's kisses that night were harder, more desperate and urgent. They didn’t speak; instead their hands spoke for them, conversing in caresses and all out gropes, as Richard slowly stripped Paul out of his pyjamas. Paul’s movements were willing, eager, breathing harsh as he struggled to remove Richard’s clothing; their joining when it finally came was eager, quick, and desperate and although their love-making that night was destined never to last long and was therefore imperfect, Paul felt as though a pressure that had been building up inside him had finally slipped away.

Richard’s kisses afterwards were sweet, attentive, hands still caressing Paul’s body as though worshipping him; Paul had never felt quite so loved before. He moaned at the contact, body responding still beneath Richard’s touch.

“Christ, I love you,” Richard murmured, suddenly, into the darkness. 

“My name is actually Paul, but Christ will do in a pinch,” Paul replied, his resultant smile turning his tone warm.

Richard’s laughter was hot against his neck and his cheeky comment earned Paul a kiss. 

“Stupid man,” Richard said, with another fond snort of laughter. 

Paul merely smiled and settled against Richard again, sighing at the contentment he felt whilst folded in Richard’s arms. 

“I love you, too, Reesh,” he murmured into the darkness.

Richard's only response was to kiss him. 

:::

Paul’s birthday dawned on the 9th of December; Richard treated him to a candle-lit dinner at a nearby restaurant. Whilst he hadn’t expected a fuss, Paul was grateful for it all the same. and the meal proved to be delicious. 

That night, he settled with Richard upon their bed, Richard’s mouth sucking bruises into his neck. Every tender nip and loving bite felt like a claiming gesture and Paul relished and encouraged every one; he wanted to be claimed by Richard, wanted the world to know that he belonged to someone, that he loved someone deeply in return. 

His hands mapped out possessive caresses against Richard’s body, re-learning familiar dips and curves and kissed bruises in turn against lover’s flesh. Their joining when it came was slow, and tender, bodies moving languidly in time beneath the sheets; Paul’s groans were deep and loud, interspersed with moans of Richard’s name as the other man slowly made love to him

Richard’s name was loud upon his lips when he came, hands holding tightly to the other man’s body, as though fearful that Richard would disappear if he didn’t attempt that much. He felt vulnerable, stripped bare and open to Richard and he allowed himself to trust Richard implicitly, as he hadn’t allowed himself to trust anyone else before. He felt Richard reciprocate; every movement, every gesture from the other man seemed designed to tell Paul that there was no one else for Richard anymore, that they were both were in as deep as the other. Paul couldn’t remember a time when he’d been happier. 

::::

Christmas finally arrived and Richard presented Paul with the fireman’s calendars he’d mentioned a few months previously. Paul stared at them with something akin to wonder; in all of the rush and upheaval of the past few months, he’d almost forgotten that he’d even ordered them. 

“You don’t have to have these, any more, if you don’t want them,” Richard said, looking momentarily worried. 

Paul smiled, then; Richard must have mistaken his sudden rush of memories regarding the calendars as being wholly bad. That he’d associate them with the bakery he’d lost was inevitable; after all, one calendar had been destined to be displayed on the wall of the former Sweetie Pies. 

“It’s fine, Reesh. I still want one, and the other will go up in my new bakery,” he said, with a brave smile. 

Richard nodded and watched as Paul flipped open the page for December; Paul's face crinkled into a sudden laugh when he saw Richard on the page, standing awkwardly with a Santa hat the only thing covering his modesty. 

“Gorgeous,” he said. “But the model is far nicer in real life.”

Richard huffed in embarrassment, before he said - “Aren’t you going to have a look at the other months?”

“Nah,” Paul said, with a shake of his head. “After all, I’m not in love with them.”

Richard smiled and bent to laughingly kiss Paul. 

:::

The rest of the day passed quickly, with plenty of gifts and kisses exchanged. Paul and Richard shared cooking duties that day, and ended up with more than they could eat in a week. 

That evening was spent before the fire and the TV, and the couple watched bad movies and worse TV, shovelling sweet popcorn into each other’s mouths by the handful. In time, they grew tired, eyes threatening to droop closed where they sat; Richard was the first to move, to drag Paul to his feet and to lead him by both hands into the bedroom.

Their love-making that night was desperate and loud, oft-repeated throughout the long marches of the night. Finally, they slept, whilst outside, snow drifted down to decorate Berlin streets with a thick carpet of white flakes. 

:::

Paul opened his new bakery in the New Year, just a few units away from his former business in Kudamm; in honour of his first business, he called it Sweetie Pies II. Oli and Christoph resumed their former roles by Paul’s side and it felt as though things had finally returned to normal.

He couldn’t help but think, as he took a break with Richard in a quiet spot in Kudamm, that life couldn’t get any better; business was booming and he’d found love in the midst of what should have been a disaster. His mind recalled Richard’s scared promise uttered at the scene of the fire, of keeping Paul safe forever. Paul couldn’t remember ever feeling as settled or as safe as he did when he was with Richard; in that Richard had kept his promise. Paul’s smile was immediate and fond.

Richard caught his smile then, and returned it, as though he were privy to Paul’s thoughts and shared them. Paul smiled, and reached for the other man’s hand, but didn’t speak; he didn’t have to when gestures spoke louder than words ever could.


End file.
